Sure, Kim’s coming around, and they’re going to look at photos. And talk. Danika’s put a bottle of white in the fridge, and a bottle of shiraz is open and breathing on the counter. They’ll drink wine. They’ll talk. Kim will have to go home, as Bella has soccer in the morning, as does Cami. So maybe not too much wine then.
“Don’t hold back,” Shirley had whispered as she hugged Danika goodbye. “Be brave.”
Danika is still not entirely sure what her mother meant by that, except that she’s been championing Kim all week. She takes a last look around. The bedroom door is open—deliberately. She tells herself it’s so Kim has the chance to be as nosy as Danika was in Kim’s apartment, but a less charitable part of her knows it’s so Kim, too, has that moment of pain when she looks at themarital bed, where Danika and Chris loved. Fucked. Conceived a child.
Her lips compress. She’s accepted that this whole…situation…isn’t Kim’s fault. That Chris manipulated both her and Kim into a situation they wouldn’t otherwise have accepted. But she’s sure that if not for Cami and Bella she wouldn’t have approached Kim at soccer camp, would have stuck her fingers in her ears and sung “La, la, la, can’thearyou” as if she was the eight-year-old instead of Cami. But the unstoppable juggernaut of a friendship that is actually more, even though the kids don’t know it yet, is the catalyst for her acceptance.
Danika goes to the kitchen and checks the oven. She’d debated doing something complicated for dinner tonight, pulling out all the stops, not to impress Kim, but to make it obvious she was trying. No supermarket roast chook and a bag of salad, which was often dinner for her and Cami when life was too overwhelming to think of cooking. But Kim is vegetarian, and so Danika settled for something she and Cami often have—a sundried tomato and capsicum frittata along with a quinoa salad. Simple and delicious.
The frittata is ready, so Danika pulls it from the oven and sets it on top, covering it with a tea towel. She’s set the table for two. It’s too cold to eat on the deck, but it’s pleasant looking out over the garden.
The doorbell rings.
Nerves jump in her stomach, and she smooths her suddenly damp palms down her jeans. She walks to the front door and opens it.
Kim is there, holding a wicker basket. A cloth covers the contents, but the neck of a bottle of wine protrudes. “Hi.” Kim offers a smile, but her fingers are white-knuckling the handle of the basket.
“Welcome. Please come in.” Danika swings the door wider so Kim can enter.
“Shoes off?” Kim is already toeing out of her chunky leather clogs.
“No need unless you want to.” Danika only enforces the no-shoes thing if it’s Cami and her friends in muddy soccer boots.
She leads the way along the hall, past the open doorways. Cami’s room. Bathroom. Her room. She doesn’t look back to see if Kim is looking, although she’s sure she is.
When they reach the kitchen, Kim sets her basket on the kitchen counter. Her lips are pale, and for a moment there’s a defeated look on her face.
Guilt shreds Danika’s chest. She should have closed the doors. Itiscallous of her to allow Kim this glimpse into the life she’d had with Chris—the king bed, the large room, the photos. It’s not about money, about showing off her house, which is so much bigger than Kim’s apartment. Yes, she’s more comfortable with Chris’s life insurance and superannuation payouts, but Kim seems to have a comfortable lifestyle too. It was a statement—a cat pissing in the corner.This ismine. This is what I had. This is what I still hold—the position of wife.She snorts.Wifewas not something she ever aspired to, and she’s never considered herself superior simply because she married someone.
“I brought wine,” Kim says. She holds out the bottle. “I wasn’t sure what you preferred. I hope this is okay.”
It’s a pinot grigio from the King Valley, a label Danika doesn’t recognise. “Thank you. Shall we open this now?”
Kim nods. “And you said not to bring anything, but if someone invites me for dinner, I like to contribute in some way.” She removes a container and lifts the lid to show cookies covered in flaked almonds. “Italian cookies.”
“Did you make them?” The cookies aren’t the finished perfection Danika associates with store-bought. These are rustic and delicious-looking.
“I did. I like to cook. And Bella likes to eat, so there’s that.”
“So did Chris. As you obviously know.” This is about building connections, finding a way forward for their daughters. They can’t avoid the elephant in the room.
“He did, didn’t he?” A more genuine smile lights Kim’s face.
She’s prettier when she smiles; the curve of her cheeks softens her angular cheekbones.
“Did he eat meat around you?” Danika asks.
“Yes, because Bella eats meat. But we all ate a lot of vegetarian food, too.”
Danika busies herself finding glasses and opening the wine Kim brought. She takes ash brie from the fridge, puts it on a wooden platter, adds dried olives and oat crackers and puts it on the counter.
Kim sits on a stool. “This looks fantastic.” She lifts her gaze and holds Danika’s. “Thank you for inviting me.”
“You’re welcome.” And strangely, Kim is. The tightness in Danika’s chest loosens, just a little. “How’s Bella?”
“Good some days. Not others. Meeting Cami has helped. She still hasn’t stopped talking about her. It’s as if they sense the bond they have.”
“I think they do. Or maybe it’s just that they are physically similar, and recognise that on a subconscious level.”
